The Y represented a gymnast hanging by his hands to a trapeze, and being a letter which does not occur in the Hungarian language except in combinations, excited most the interest and imagination of the youngsters.  Thousands of times did they practise the grouping of the figures on the blocks, and the Y always served as a model for trapeze exercises.  My friend, on account of his birth-mark, which resembled a rude Y, was early dubbed by his brothers with the nick-name Yatil, this being the first words of the French couplet printed below the picture.  Learning the French by heart, they believed the Y a-t-il to be one word, and with boyish fondness for nick-names saddled the youngest with this.  It is easy to understand how the shape of this letter, borne on his body in an indelible mark, and brought to his mind every moment of the day, came to seem in some way connected with his life.  As he grew up in this belief he became more and more superstitious about the letter and about everything in the remotest way connected with it.

The first great event of his life was joining the circus, and to this the letter Y more or less directly! led him.  He left home on his twenty-fifth birth-day, and twenty five was the number of the letter Y in the block-alphabet.

The second great event of his life was the Turin lottery, and the number of the lucky ticket was twenty-five.  “The last sign given me,” he said, “was the accident in the circus here.”  As he spoke he rolled up the right leg of his trowsers, and there, on the outside of the calf, about midway between the knee and ankle, was a red scar forked like the letter Y.

From the time he confided his superstition to me he sought me more than ever.  I must confess to feeling, at each visit of his, a little constrained and unnatural.  He seemed to lean on me as a protector, and to be hungry all the time for an intimate sympathy I could never give him.  Although I shared his secret, I could not lighten the burden of his superstition.  His wound had entirely healed, but as his leg was still weak and he still continued to limp a little, he could not resume his place in the circus.  Between brooding over his superstition and worrying about his accident, he grew very despondent.  The climax of his hopelessness was reached when the doctor told him at last that he would never be able to vault again.  The fracture had been a severe one, the bone having protruded through the skin.  The broken parts had knitted with great difficulty, and the leg would never be as firm and as elastic as before.  Besides, the fracture had slightly shortened the lower leg.  His circus career was therefore ended, and he attributed his misfortune to the ill-omened letter Y.